


bright-eyed like this

by onceuponamoon



Series: abo jt/ebs [13]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Date Night, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 07:37:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14911124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: John’s always been an observant guy.





	bright-eyed like this

**Author's Note:**

> **tw** : some observed bad parenting
> 
>  
> 
> feel free to leave kudos, comments, or shoot me an ask on tumblr, y'all! that shit's always welcome <3

**October 2018**

 

John’s always been an observant guy. It might be why people decide he’s quiet, standoffish, a little dumb, or a dick before he’s ever even opened his mouth. He spends a lot of time people-watching and it’s culminated into opinions on things like how to approach unfamiliar alphas or people working in customer service, how to guide conversation topics to keep friends or teammates from touchy subjects, and, most recently, how to shape and revise his own (future) parenting style. 

They don’t go into the City together as often as Jordan would probably like. John’s been trying to work on that, especially since they got married this summer, but sometimes he just really needs some alone time. Jordan’s always been really understanding about it.

But this time, John agrees. He asks Jordan to let him think about it first, of course, because he doesn’t know if this is a day where he should just push through the discomfort of potentially getting recognized or scented by strangers, or if this is a day where he really wouldn’t mind it _too_ much, but ends up agreeing anyway. 

Jordan grins like John gave him the world.

“Let’s just. Be a couple, you know?” Jordan says, rubbing at the caps of John’s shoulders as he nuzzles against his bond-bite. They watch each other in the mirror; John continues shaving his neck. “I’ll get us a reservation, we can just explore the city a bit, have a nice, fancy dinner...come back _hooome_.”

John snorts at the waggling eyebrows.

Because Jordan puts his foot down about driving all the way into the City -- something about wanting to walk the streets holding hands -- John only drives them to the Garden City station. They ride the LIRR all the way to Penn Station, walk an avenue to the 34th Street-Herald Square, and then take the N-train down to the 23rd Street.

Being pressed together by uncaring strangers going about their days is...grounding in a way that John hadn’t really expected it to be on a day like today. There’s almost too much going on for John to be able to observe anything in particular, just a rush of scents and sounds and bodies. 

They surface, walk through Madison Square Park to the restaurant: Eleven Madison Park.

John’s pretty sure he stepped in squirrel shit and Jordan’s shirt collar is all fucked up from being jostled on the train, but the maitre d’ doesn’t give them more than a cursory glance after John steps forward to confirm their reservation.

Jordan’s hand rests at the base of John’s back as they’re led to their table.

He looks around with bright eyes; John just looks at him. 

“This is pretty fancy, eh?” Jordan says once they’ve agreed on a bottle of wine and declined the hand-feeding menu. There’s a gleam in his eye, one that says he hasn’t treated himself to anything like this in a while. “Three Michelin Stars, I think.”

John hides his smile in his wine glass. Jordan’s really cute when he’s all bright-eyed like this.

He makes an unrestrained sound of delight when he takes a sip of his glass and John loves the way his cheeks go pink, the way he ducks his head, like he’s embarrassed at himself even though he’ll meet John’s eyes, almost defiantly, only seconds later. 

Jordan had opted for the tasting menu -- which John hadn’t realized consisted of nearly ten fucking courses, but by the end of it, John’s full to bursting and more than a little drunk. Jordan’s just as bad, giggly, and handsy once they’ve paid and are set to leave.

They emerge into the crisp night air, the loud noises of traffic and drunken laughter, faint scents of garbage and urine hiding beneath the sharp witch-hazels and black locust trees in the park. Jordan bumps into John’s back, laughs about it, and then nudges up beneath John’s arm, heavy-lidded and happy. John tips a kiss into his hair, more affectionate than he usually allows himself to be in public, and watches for an opening in the bustle of the sidewalk. 

“You ready?” John asks, tilting his head towards the glowing green bulbs denoting the subway station.

Jordan puts one hand around John’s waist and the other on the center of his chest. “D’you want to walk around a bit first?”

John looks up at the Flatiron Building, around at the clumps of people and the blur of cars.

Honestly, he wants to go home to his nest, to scent Jordan and purr for him the way he’s always wordlessly asking. He wants to fuck, wants to bite, wants to be _home_ so he can do every single thing he’s not allowed to have in public.

“Sure,” he answers instead.

They walk the eleven blocks from the park through the Flatiron District and Korea Town towards the Empire State Building, talking and teasing and definitely going too slow for most of the New Yorkers’ liking, but they’re drunk and they’re happy, and John’s willing to do basically anything to keep making his alpha smile at him like that. Even if it means they get cursed at occasionally. 

Jordan just says, “Sorry,” like the typical Canadian that he is and snickers into John’s shoulder. 

Exhausted, drunk, and stuffed to the gills, John says, “We’re taking a bus,” and turns Jordan around until they reach the bus stop halfway down the avenue. He pays for both of their tickets using the Select Bus Service terminal (which John thinks is overkill, honestly) because Jordan never remembers to keep enough money on his metrocard for the return trip. 

They’re still an avenue away from Penn Station and Jordan’s groaning, “Why’d you make me walk so much?” 

John doesn’t even dignify that with a response, just bumps his shoulder against Jordan’s. 

Drunk as he is, John’s pretty good at tuning out most of the other passengers. All apart from this little girl in the seat in front of him, sitting on her parent’s lap. She keeps standing on him, peeking over the seat at Jordan and John.

Jordan’s delighted, of course, because he can’t resist babies. This little girl looks to be maybe three at most and she’s playing a bastardized version of peekaboo with Jordan using her dad and the seat back, jumping and shrieking and laughing when Jordan makes a surprised face and grins at her -- at least until the man growls at her, saying, “ _Stop_ ,” and, “ _Sit down,_ ” in an alpha tone just loud enough to put a cold shiver down John’s spine. 

Frowning, Jordan puts a hand on John’s thigh and says, “You okay?”

The little girl’s crying now, these low, mournful sobs, and trying to squirm out of her dad’s lap, reaching an arm out for her mom who’s sitting right there but too occupied by the loud phone conversation she’s having. 

Luckily, they get out at the next stop and John just ushers Jordan west towards the most terrible arena in all the NHL. He laughs, albeit a bit subdued, when Jordan boos loudly at MSG, prodding him towards the station so that they can finally head _home_.

Things are much quieter on the Long Island Rail Road.

Jordan’s still frowning a bit, clearly upset at getting that little girl in trouble.

John’s more pissed than sad, but Jordan’s always had a softer heart. “He shouldn’t have used his voice on her,” John says. “Not like that. Not in public. She was just a baby.”

Jordan squeezes John’s hand. “Yeah.”

“It’s not your fault,” John says, squeezing back. 

Sighing, Jordan scoots closer, tilts his head to rest on John’s shoulder. “It was. But he shouldn’t have reacted like that.” There are a few beats but then Jordan says, “Is it weird that I’m a little relieved that you don’t like that?”

John flinches, not sure what kind of expression he makes, but he’s pretty sure Jordan can scent the flash of surprised horror that went the through him. He watches Jordan sit up, nose wrinkling as he fixes John with hazy, sincere eyes. 

“I’m glad you didn’t like it because I don’t know if I could do it. I don’t think I could ever use my voice on our kids, babe,” Jordan explains. His scent goes watery, a little sour. “Please tell me you don’t want to use that as a form of discipline.”

“ _God_ , no,” John nearly chokes. He nuzzles at Jordan’s cheek, trying to put off a soothing scent since they’re not alone and he’s not comfortable enough to purr. “God. That’s a -- very last resort kind of thing.”

Jordan takes a deep breath, lets it out. He presses a kiss to John’s temple. “Good.”

Just thinking about what happened on the bus has John going tense, but thinking about _Jordan_ doing it? Jordan growling at a kid who doesn’t understand, at a _baby_ who’s just innocently playing? John would divorce him _so fast_ , as sick to the stomach as that makes him feel. It’d be better than staying married to a shitty alpha. 

“You always....” John starts, eyeing the woman across the aisle who looks close to sleep, the couple diagonal from them too wrapped up in each other to notice two hockey players having a serious conversation in the back of the car. “You only use it on me when I ask.”

He doesn’t know where the thought was supposed to be going, but he’s relieved when Jordan nods. “I wouldn’t -- I won’t, not unless you asked. Or didn’t notice you were about to get hurt, but I’d never -- I don’t want to _control_ you,” Jordan says, sounding a little sick at the thought, “I want your opinions. I want you to tell me what you want and how you want it and -- I _need_ you to push back. I -- Jesus Christ, babe. That’d kill me.”

“That’s --” Honestly, it explains a lot. Explains more of the how and why John’s been so in love with him from the very start. “That’s good.”

It’s a long enough ride out to Garden City that John feels plenty sober for the ten minute drive home, keying them in and toeing his shoes off at the door before he pulls Jordan in for a kiss with both hands cradling his jaw.

John says, “I love you,” and Jordan dopily responds with, “Happy Anniversary,” which --

“What? It’s not our anniversary. We got married, like, three months ago, bud.”

Jordan giggles a little deliriously and tugs at John’s hand until he’s following him up the stairs towards their bedroom. “No, no, I know. I know that,” he says, eyes crinkled from his smile. “It’s been a year since our first heat together.”

John laughs, deep and straight out of his chest. “You are so -- you, what, you remember the day we had our first date? Our first fight? The day you moved in?” He teases, poking at Jordan’s ribs as he struggles out of his button-down, twisting away. “You remember the first time I made you breakfast? The first goal I scored for you?”

“Yeah,” Jordan says, “Although, I maintain that that was not a fight. Just a disagreement.”

John snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

“Bet,” Jordan challenges, eyes dark as he watches John step out of his pants. “It’s all up here,” he says, tapping at his temple. He shimmies out of his pants, wafting juniper-scented smugness in John’s direction.

John clambers up onto the bed and tugs off his underwear, tossing them towards the foot of the bed. They land, then slide off onto the floor. He rolls onto his belly and then up onto his knees, triceps and chest flat on the bed. There’s no need to look over his shoulder at Jordan; John can smell it the second Jordan’s scent shoots from aroused to _on_ , charged up and ready.

John’s pretty sure Jordan nearly brains himself on the bedpost, if the cursing he hears is any indication, but manages to get all the way out of his underwear before he climbs up onto the bed, face-first into John’s bared hole.

It’s just like that first time -- an echo of that first heat, because John remembers the important stuff, too.

He groans, going molten at the way Jordan tongues him open, slick already dripping down his thighs from the moment Jordan breaks the seal. His hole flexes, softens and spreads open, ready for fingers, ready for Jordan’s cock, Jordan’s _knot_. But Jordan’s content to just eat John’s ass like they didn’t just dine at a top-notch restaurant in the middle of Manhattan, like he’s hungry for more, like he’ll never get enough.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” John says, scrabbling for a pillow to muffle his noises into. 

Sometimes he thinks he’ll fall apart, just shake and shiver and melt into nothing more than a puddle in the bed. He sobs, he screams, he shoves his hips back until Jordan’s digging his fingers into John’s ass and thighs, growling into his hole from deep in his chest. He whimpers and squirms because he’s riding that edge of _too much_ and he doesn’t want to come until Jordan’s inside of him.

“Fuck," he says again, and then again, but louder. “Fuck me, Jordan, c’mon, c’mon. Up. _Up_.”

He’s empty, no tongue there to stopper the slick and John’s on _fire_. 

“Fuck me, alpha,” he says, turning just enough to see the slick coating Jordan’s entire face, his scruffy jaw slick and sticky all the way down his neck. “Jordan, _please_.” He presents again, tries to back his ass straight onto Jordan’s angry red cock, but --

Jordan says, “Flip over,” and then shoves in the second John obliges.

John _shouts_. 

Jordan leans in and bites at John’s mark, claiming him all over again as he fucks in, slips nearly all the way out on repeat. He’s growling, nipping at John’s chest and shoulders and sliding his other hand up to play with John’s nipple. John’s sweaty already, _dying_ , so sensitive and ready to come that he could almost convince himself it’s because he’s in heat and not because he’d had a lot of alcohol earlier. 

“Good?” Jordan asks.

As if he _needs to ask_. John’s a fucking wreck.

He purrs.

Jordan chokes on a moan, fucks in harder because he loves the way it sounds when John’s purrs get all fucked up from it. He tries to act like that’s not it, but John knows.

John also knows that Jordan loves it when he plays with his nipples, when he scrabbles at his back, when he holds eye contact while Jordan fucks the sound right out of him. So John does it, plays up to all of Jordan’s favorite things and grins a little wickedly when Jordan’s knot starts swelling, making John feel so full.

“Alpha,” he says around a guttered purr. “Fuck, fuck, c’mon, make me come,” John says, pulling Jordan’s face down close for a kiss. It’s biting, glancing more than a kiss, but it’s still satisfying. John presses their foreheads together, says, “C’mon, fill me up.”

Jordan swears, smears a kiss across John’s mouth, dragging it down his chin, nibbles his way down his throat. He reaches between them, fisting John all of twice before he bites down on John’s mark again and -- John comes, spilling slick and messy between their stomachs. He’s pretty sure he howls, choking as he twitches and clenches down onto Jordan’s thick cock. 

“Fuck,” he says, tears threatening to spill as he loses himself in all the sensations. “Oh, god. _Jordan_.”

Overstimulated as he is, John’s hands slide through the sweat on Jordan’s back, tipping down towards his ass and -- it doesn’t take a lot of maneuvering to reach between them, gather up some come, some slick on an out-thrust and use it to press thick and unyielding with two fingers against Jordan’s hole.

Jordan makes a broken noise, falters, collapses mostly on top of John as he starts to come, knot swelling wide and thick to keep it all in.

Smirking, smug as hell and happy about it, John pats at Jordan’s back as he twitches every now and then, emptying himself out into John. John rests a hand on the back of Jordan’s head, keeps his sweaty curls beneath his fingers so that he won’t stop panting wetly onto the skin of John’s throat.

Later, once they’ve caught their breath, Jordan laughs, seemingly out of nowhere. It’s a high giggle, burst free and buried in John’s neck like a secret.

“What?” John asks.

Jordan lifts his head, regards John with heavy-lidded eyes and a gap-toothed grin; John can’t help but run his fingers through Jordan’s sweaty curls. “I’m just surprised you haven’t asked me what I would’ve done differently.”

“...about the sex?”

Laughing again, Jordan presses a kiss to John’s collarbone and shakes his head. “Well -- I think I followed directions pretty well with that,” he says, “But I was talking about the bus thing.”

John curls his hand around Jordan’s nape, locks his ankles behind Jordan to stretch out his hip flexors. “What, you want me to captain you on that?”

“‘What would you have done differently, Ebs? There’ve gotta be at least six alternatives and I know you can find at least one,’” he says, making his voice extra deep. 

If they weren’t still knotted together, John would shove at Jordan’s shoulder for the mocking. Instead, he pinches Jordan’s nipple. “No need to make fun,” he chides, soothing at the hurt with the pad of his thumb, “But...that’s not a bad idea.” At Jordan’s raised brow, John rolls his eyes. “I mean, at least that way we can really try to get a handle on how we want to parent before it actually happens.”

Jordan’s still grinning at him, so maybe it’s not a completely dumb idea.

“Of course, we should be prepared to be flexible. We’re going to have multiples, so maybe we should pay more attention to families like that, eh?”

Jordan rests his chin on his hands, pushing a little bit of the breath from John’s lungs. He’s still grinning, putting off that vanilla-apple happiness like this is doing it for him. “You know you’re real cute when you start dissecting our future like hockey plays.”

“‘I’ll have you know, I’m the cutest, _babe_ ,’” John retorts, opting for high where Jordan had gone low.

Mouth dropping open, Jordan makes an affronted face as though he can’t handle getting a taste of his own medicine. John laughs, rolls them over in the nest even though it knocks free a few pillows, and busses kisses over Jordan’s face until he stops pouting.

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to the anons who have been keeping me entertained on [tumblr](http://onceuponamoonfic.tumblr.com)!!! y'all have some great headcanons.


End file.
